


so nothing dark will end our shining hour

by HopelessBanana



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Gap Filler, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 08:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelessBanana/pseuds/HopelessBanana
Summary: “What's with the candles?” Lup asks.He groans, weighing up whether or not to admit it. In the end, honesty wins out in the face of trying to keep up whatever lie he might have spun for however long they remain with the Starblaster. “I think I may be a little afraid of the dark.”She stifles a giggle, letting out a small splutter of laughter. “Barry, that's kinda cute.’





	so nothing dark will end our shining hour

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Hour" by Carol Ann Duffy.
> 
> Scottie at https://janecrockeyre.tumblr.com/ drew a beautiful gif of this and I've never been more flattered in my life: https://ibb.co/ijjhAv

Barry isn’t yet used to looking up at the sky and seeing only one sun. The days are shorter in these new dimensions, the nights longer. At first, the crew found themselves awake in the dead of night, their circadian rhythms not yet adjusted. Everyone else seems to have adapted now, but Barry has always had a bad habit of staying up too late. Merle is a night owl, but even he eventually managed to fix his sleeping habits.

 

It’s a blessing that the rest of the crew are understanding, when they hear him pottering about in the early hours of morning, waiting for sleep to take him. He nurses cups of hot chamomile tea, staring through the wide panes of glass at the purple-black sky and the glittering stars, hums the fragments of the lullabies his mother used to sing to him that he can still remember. Sometimes he works until exhaustion finally takes him and he slumps over at his desk, crumpling paper beneath the dead weight of his tired body.

 

Lucretia tells him off sometimes, the furrow between her brows marring her otherwise flawless complexion. By the end of each cycle, Barry is carrying suitcases beneath his eyes. “You need to take care of yourself, Barry. I'm sure Merle knows a way to help you sleep,” she says, as firmly as she can bring herself too. (He senses that, quiet though she is, one day she will learn to properly assert herself. Part of him fears it, another proudly anticipates it.)

 

Each time she says it, gently chiding, with an edge of muted frustration, he thanks her and promises: “I'll think about it.” He does think about it, but can’t bring himself to. Part of him is insistent:  _ no, you can do this. You don’t need the help _ . The sensible part says everyone needs help sometimes. He does not ask. 

 

It is not every night, after all, especially now they are a few cycles in. He doesn't expect more than one sun now, has learned what a rarity his home planet was. It doesn't mean he doesn't miss the second one, though. Tonight he feels the ache of it deep in his chest, heavy and weighty, and lights as many candles as he can find and holes himself up in the kitchen, leaning back on the hind legs of one of the chairs. The wood squeaks against the tile floor, and he hears a rustling noise from in the corridor.

 

The door opens, and Lup walks in, yawning and stretching her arms. At first she doesn't seem to notice him, until he coughs. Her head snaps in his direction, the plait she’s tied it into for bed whipping around her face, and she recoils before catching herself. “Hey, nerd. You're up late,” she says, feigning nonchalance. 

 

Barry smiles weakly, scratching at the crown of his head. “Uh. Yeah.”

 

“Again,” she notes, pointedly. 

 

He hesitates to draw a breath, letting out something halfway between a chuckle and a gasp. “I guess so.” 

 

Lup’s eyes fall on the candles he's set out on the dining table in front of him. She snaps her fingers and the flickering yellow lights turn pink. Barry turns his gaze on her, questioning, and she answers with a shrug. “It's a good colour.”

 

“Not blue?” he says, before he realises the words have left his mouth. Immediately, he flushes red with embarrassment at his own joke. Lucky for him, Lup doesn't seem to mind puns: she clicks her fingers again and they shimmer like opals between pearlescent white and lilac and periwinkle. “That's pretty,” he tells her, reaching out to swipe a finger through the flame. “I didn't know evocation could do that.”

 

“We both know fire is my  _ thing _ , Barry. This is kiddie stuff.” She looks smug nevertheless. Barry laughs, and pulls his hand back from the candle, holding it in his lap.

 

“What's with the candles?” Lup asks. 

 

He groans, weighing up whether or not to admit it. In the end, honesty wins out in the face of trying to keep up whatever lie he might have spun for however long they remain with the Starblaster. “I think I may be a little afraid of the dark.”

 

She stifles a giggle, letting out a small splutter of laughter. “Barry, that's kinda cute,’ she says instead, coming closer and leaning an arm up on the counter. The candles lick stripes of pastel-coloured light across her face, reflecting sky-blue and salmon and seafoam green in her pink and green eyes. She's a riot of colour, reaching out to place a hand on his arm for a moment, briefly comforting. Barry can't take his eyes off her. Lup turns and perches on the edge of the table, pulling the flame from one of the candles into the palm of her hand and rolling it around into a ball. “If you're afraid of the dark, why are you always up so late?” she asks.

 

She doesn't seem quite comfortable asking it, staring into the ball of fire instead of looking him in the eye. It unsettles Barry too - he feels a little nauseous. The wick she took the flame from smokes languidly, white tendrils stretching upwards, lackadaisical. It was scented: strawberry and lime, and the sweetness of it still fills the room. He takes a deep breath, tastes it in his mouth: the phantom flavour of the fruit. “I miss the sun,” he admits, finally. “Well. Having two of them.”

 

Lup is quiet, uncharacteristically. She rolls the flame around, making it smaller until it is barely the size of a marble. It really does look like an opal now, almost dense enough that he could set it in a ring. Then she slowly pulls her hands apart, like she’s stretching taffy, the fireball expanding between them until it is larger than a football and bright enough to cast light across the whole, darkened room. The different colours still circle about inside it, and the way they are sent across the walls makes Barry feel as if he himself is inside it, too. Lup turns it lightly in one hand, holding it casually, then snaps with the other. From the top of the sphere, a spot of orange expands and washes across it like paint. Barry can hear the fire crackling now, familiar and comforting, and smiles softly at the miniature sun Lup has made him. He holds his hands up to it, warming them beside the fire she's cradling again. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

 

Lup looks at him for a moment, wide eyed, mouth slightly dropped, then grins, dazzling with rows of white teeth. Her eyes are tender, and she moves, inexplicably, nearer. He isn't looking at the fire anymore. He's looking at her. And she's beautiful, radiant.  _ Oh no _ , he thinks. This is bad. The flames splutter between her hands and fizzle out.

 

“Aww, Bluejeans. Come here,” Lup says. She draws him close, against the soft swell of her chest, closes her eyes and hums. He thinks of his mother's cotton wool hair, the scent of sweat through sweet talcum. He was born and raised in the South, nearer the equator, where the suns beat down longest and hardest. It is why his skin is tough and tanned, from childhood years of playing outside and getting sunburnt. Lup’s hands have a similar roughness to them: long fingered but calloused, resting on the small of his back. She and Taako don't discuss much of their childhoods, only enough that he knows things weren't always easy. He pictures her, smaller, with shorter, choppier hair, scrambling across the street and falling and grazing her knee, a miniature Taako (a Taaquito?) barrelling into her from behind. She's probably escaping a merchant she stole from, like a clever orphan pickpocket from a story. He knows it isn't reality. Real life is far harder than that.

 

And he struggles to believe this is real either. Lup’s body is warm and her hair smells of sweet smoke and honey, and it's as good as the miniature sun. Maybe better. She is solid, physical, tangible, and he thinks he's starting to fall a little bit in love with her already. “Thank you, Lup,” he tells her, again, louder this time, more determined.

 

She pulls back, hands on his waist and shakes her head. “Let's get you to bed,” she says. She hops down from the table and turns out all but one of the candles with a swish of her hand. The last one she motions to with a jerk, and the flame flies to her fingertips. She holds her left hand out like a torch and reaches out to Barry with the other. “Come on.” He takes her hand.

 

They walk silently down the hall, bumping shoulders until they reach Barry’s room, where he opens the door with his other hand, shaking, a little sweaty. Surprisingly, she follows him in,  and he turns to her with surprise. She starts. “Oh. I'll go now. See ya, Barry.” But then he reaches out to gently encircle her wrist. Her arm tugs a little, not expecting him to try and stop her, and he lets her go just as quickly. Was that too much, he wonders. She doesn't seem to think so, laughing quietly under her breath. 

 

“Um. I mean. You don't have to leave,” he splutters. “If you don't want.” She holds up her light, making her way to the small light beside Barrys bed and flicking the switch to turn it on. The light shines yellow, but she dismisses the flame she's holding and waves her hand over the lamp. It's still yellow, but now it's a touch warmer, and if Barry squints, adjusting his glasses, he can see that she has made another sun.

 

“It won't stay that way forever, but it will until you turn it off,” she says, turning away from it to face him again. 

 

“It's perfect,” he assures her.

 

She beams, folding her arms and nodding. “Of course it is,  _ I  _ made it.”

 

Barry laughs. “Of course.” Then he climbs into bed as she moves towards the entrance, and is about to wish her good night when she seats herself on the chair next to his bed and leans back. He rolls over to face her, as she sits toying with the tie at the end of her plait.

 

“You said I could stay a little longer. I can sing a lullaby, if you want. I'm not very good, but me and Taako used to sing to each other when we were little, and it was dark, and the suns had gone in,” she says. “It always helped. To deal with the fear.” She glances at the lamp, then finally at him. “I never used to like the dark either.”

 

Barry shifts, about to sit up and talk to her properly, but she smiles and shakes her head. “Nah. Stay like that. You'll never get to sleep sat up.” 

 

He pauses, pensive for a moment. “I didn't think you were afraid of anything,” he tells her, earnest.

 

“I used to be. There's a reason I like fire magic. I used to be scared of a lot of things.” She glances down at the lines of her body, and he gulps down the lump that forms in his throat. “There were times I thought I'd never be this comfortable or happy.” Her voice is quieter than usual. “But you guys… You're good people. You're like my family now. I don't just have Taako, I have Merle and Magnus and Cap’nport and Lucretia and  _ you _ .” She bounces a little in her chair, like she's frustrated. “Please. Do you mind if I sing to you a little? I couldn't sleep either, tonight. I'll leave afterwards.”

 

He nods, already sleepy, and she tugs at the hem of her t-shirt and begins to sing softly in Elvish. She was right - she isn't particularly good, her voice is nothing special. But it's gentle and she can hold the tune, and he's too tired to figure out the meanings of the words. He yawns, tucking an arm beneath his head, staring up at her. The loose strands of her golden hair, where it's already starting to come free from the plait, catch the light, as if they're glowing. She certainly seems to be. He thinks, for a second, that perhaps he does still have two suns after all.

 

With that thought, he falls asleep. He doesn't notice the creaking of the floorboards as Lup stands, nor the quick press of her lips to his forehead, or the way she seems to laugh at and shake herself as she glances over her shoulder before she leaves, closing the door behind her.


End file.
